


Smoke and Bones

by MarbleAide



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Demon AU, Demon!Bilbo, Djinn AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarbleAide/pseuds/MarbleAide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, Gandalf manages to convince Thorin that the best option for gaining their fourteen member of the company is by summoning a demon known as a Djinn from a realm of smoke and flames, locking the creature to both of them as they travel across middle-earth on their quest. </p><p>Though this demon looks to be a normal gentlehobbit, it soon turns out he is much more then what lies on the surface and, as it is with the strangeness of summoning up old magics, may turn out to be far more trouble then first Thorin anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy to say the introduction for this new story is finally up! The rating might change in the future, as I'm not sure how far certain aspects of this story will go, but for now Mature is where it's at. All mistakes are mine and I do not claim ownership to any of these characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

They gather in Bree on a night when the moon is brightest. Gandalf has already secured them a series of rooms in the Prancing Pony and, though the arrangements have brought on bickering between the wizard and their leader, Gandalf does not budge. By the time everyone has gathered, eaten, and refreshed themselves from the journey there, everything is set up in order to go about bringing their fourteen member forth.

It’s not exactly customary—the skill itself is known in this age to only a few—and Dwarfs have never been a race to indulge in such summoning even when the magic was well known. Men were the ones who took advantage, the race of Orcs when needing, and tall tales of the Elves using their knowledge to summon such beings from time to time skirted on the winds, though none had been called forth with an Elvish tongue in some time—or at least that is how it is told. Dwarfs, on the other hand, being as stubborn as they were, did not believe in anything but hard work, loyalty to kin, and so the idea of not only asking another for help, but it being a demon nonetheless was something absurd and unheard of to them. Or, at least, so it’s been told, passed down from generation to generation.

Gandalf refuses to let anyone into the room with him besides Thorin when the summoning finally takes place. It is dangerous, many things can go wrong, and though Thorin knows almost nothing of the spells and magic involved, his presence is needed.

The room smells heavy of herb and spice—rosemary spread out around the pentagram of runes intertwined with pennyroyal, candles lit that flicker and spread moving shadows around the room. The windows curtains are all drawn shut to keep prying eyes from seeing in on their activities. The markings are too old and unfamiliar to Thorin, so he can’t read them as he steps gingerly into the room, the door quickly closing behind him with Gandalf’s movements, locking in place less a curious nephew sticks his nose where it shouldn’t be.

“And this is all completely necessary?”  Thorin asks, skeptical, and not for the first time that night, looking around the quickly sprung together summoning grounds.

“The help you are looking for will not be present in this world, I assure you.” Gandalf gives his reply, sounding as if he was quite tired of answering Thorin’s worries. This was not his first time summoning a demon and, though he had not done so in some years, he was still quite positive all the markings were correct and all the protection put into place. All Thorin had to do was listen and all would be well.

“Now, go across and stand in that circle—do not step on any of the runes or lines. If one mark is out of place the protection will be broken and we will both suffer because it is.”

Thorin gave the old wizard a cold glare, but said nothing as he moved, taking caring to not smear one of the chalked up markings in the middle of the floor. Almost reluctantly, he stepped inside the pentagram, turning within it for a moment, inspecting the markings at his feet, toeing at a bundle of rosemary with the toe of his boot, the strong scent of it stinging his nose before he finally looking up at the old wizard opposite him, now standing in his own circle. The space separating them was filled with a third chalked up grounds, bigger than their own with another layer of the white runes running around it.

“Do not say anything from this point on,” Gandalf instructed, voice strong as to not argue, to which Thorin did not, but his anxiety of the situation was clear from the way his hands clenched at his sides. “When summoned, the demon may try to trick you. They are known for their quick tongues and sharp wit, if you give them any opening, any sign of weakness, they will not hesitate to harm you. No matter what happens or what is said, do not step out of that circle until I instruct you to. Do you understand?”

The idea of arguing with the wizard was still at the forefront of his mind, but Thorin withheld his tongue in favor of simply nodding his agreement and understanding, even as he felt irritated with the situation. This was not his area of knowledge. Though he most likely would never openly admit it, he truly had not a clue what to expect from what Gandalf was planning. He simply had to trust the old wizard, no matter how much his better judgment was crying out for him to do otherwise. Thorin had no choice.

Gandalf took note of the uneasiness within Thorin’s eyes, but said nothing of it as he turned his attention instead to the empty pentagram, standing before them both, giving a slight nod as he took in a breathe and began the summoning.

The spoken words, an ancient tongue, falling forth from Gandalf’s mouth made the room grow dark; the air turning heavy. Shadowscrept in to where light bled in, stealing away the orange glow of the candles, but left the flames flickering. Thorin could feel the air change, static erupting over his skin to make the hair at the back of his neck, over his arms. The spell cut through the air, making his ears sting, wincing as he tried to get away from the pain piercing through his skull. It felt as though Gandalf was speaking for hours, feeling the heavy weight of every single syllable deep into his bones, but really it only took a minute or two. It wasn’t until the last word fell from the wizard’s lips did everything still, the world feeling as though it paused in its very movement as both held their breath.

A moment passed, than another, and still nothing happened. The stillness simply continued.

“You must be—“ Thorin’s annoyance bubbled over, turning into anger, quickly breaking the dead silence that filled the room, but the words were quickly silenced by Gandalf’s hand raising to silence him, careful to stay inside the circumference of the protective circle. His eyes were sharp, glaring first at the dwarf before traveling from one corner of the room to the next.

“Come forth, creature of smoke,” Gandalf proclaimed after his moment of searching, eyes falling once more to the empty circle. “I have called your name, now show yourself.”

More silence followed for a few seconds longer with nothing happening. Thorin heard the wizard clear his throat, mouth open as if to speak, but another voice broke through before anything could be said.

“Pushy,” the voice replied, ending in a little ‘tsk’. “And demanding, might I add. Horribly uninviting, really.”

Thorin watched as a thick smoke began to billow forth from the center of the pentagram. White, gray, and yellow curling forth from the empty space, moving out to gather at the edges, but never passing over the chalked marks along the floor. The room quickly started to smell like ash and cinder, making Thorin cough though none of the smoke came near him, feeling as though his throat and lungs were quickly clogging with soot. His eyes began to burn as if he was too close to a fire, and no amount of turning away would clear them. The smoke continued to gather into a large cloud, moving up in the air, but still never once breaking the circumference of the circle.

Across from him, Gandalf glared, “Enough.”

A wave of his hand, a rush of fresh air, and suddenly the smoke cleared away, leaving in its wake a—

A hobbit.

“What joke is this?!” Thorin shouted out against Gandalf’s wishes, though he could not stay silent while this meager hobbit now stood before him, looking entirely ordinary with the earth colored clothing and furry feet. No sign of a demon at all and, for that, Thorin was furious. “Do you take me for a fool?”

The hobbit quickly turned his attentions toward the dwarf, head tilting to the side with his eyes wide as he watched Thorin take a step in his outrage, right on the edge of the pentagram.

“Thorin, if you value your life—“

“You promised a demon and here I am presented with a halfling!” Thorin hissed, voice low and dangerous in his outrage. His body moved once more, closer still to the boundaries he was told not to cross, to which neither the hobbit or wizard missed.

“Stay put!” The wizard finally bellowed, stilling Thorin as the room shook with his voice, shadows creeping back into the corners of the room for just a moment, enough that Thorin instinctively took a step back to protect himself and, in doing so, rid himself of the threat of walking outside the circle of runes.

The hobbit seemed to frown at this, looking for his shoulder with something of a pout on his lips. “He’s right, you know, what use could a hobbit be to you?” The tiny halfling huffed, voice soft and with the little hint of a squeak in pitch near the end. Very convincing, indeed.

Again, the hobbit turned his attention to the dwarf, a small smile curling upon his lips to which Gandalf did not like the look of.

“So, your name is _Thorin?”_   He purred out, speaking his name as if it tasted sweet in his mouth, rolling it smooth against his tongue. “Thorin,” he repeated, clicking his tongue against his teeth this time. For his part, Thorin did not understand the curious nature of his name, but for whatever reason behind it, there was clear indication that Gandalf did not appreciate the sudden interest.

There was a mutter of short words from the wizard, sharp on his tongue, and though Thorin did not know them, he could feel the magic laced within them spilling forth. It was only a second later that the hobbit jerked, a sharp cry leaving his throat as his head snapped back, stumbling on his feet within his circle. It was then that Thorin understood what the wizard was speaking.

It was a pain spell.

“You’re hurting him,” Thorin breathed out, not entirely sure why he voiced this or why he suddenly felt the need to stop it.

“Yes,” Gandalf said, voice sounding weak as the small creature stopped jerking and threw a harsh glare over his shoulder towards Gandalf. “Sometimes it is necessary.”

Thorin looked on at the hobbit, watching close as, suddenly, his eyes flashed for a moment from their deep blue to something else—something angry and dangerous; something dark and filled with a spark that Thorin felt leave a shiver down his spine, forcing him to stand straighter in the presence of this creature, not entirely sure if it was a true hobbit or not.

“Now,” Gandalf spoke again, voice back to being as bold as it was before, “Djinn of smoke, called forth by your true name, I contract you into the servitude of those present—both Thorin, Son of Thrain, King of Durin’s Folk, and I, Gandalf the Grey.”

From his place in the center of the room, the hobbit gave a low growl at the statement and bared his teeth, though he looked barely a frightening sight, smoke began to curl at his feet, rising around him. Around the room, the candles flickered once more.

“You will listen and obey any command given by either of us until you job is done and you are dismissed back to your realm. Do you, Djinn, understand?”

There came only a low rumble as reply. Thorin looked to see the little hobbit standing as tall as he could in disobedience. He looked down to the creature’s wrists, the skin on both starting to redden and blister, little fists curled tight as they shook.

“I repeat, do you understand?” Gandalf snapped, to which the hobbit again gave a sharp cry.

“I understand!” He shouted back, pain clear in his voice and the airs of resistance still surrounding him, but it was no use.

The spoken contract was sealed, magic lacing together to let out a loud CRACK in the air as if a storm was growing on the horizon and, with it, a shock of fire ran up Thorin’s right arm for only a seconds time before dissipating to a dull throb. A wave of what felt like warm wind burst forth from the center of the pentagram where the hobbit stood, taking the small collection of smoke with it.

Thorin coughed as it all cleared, waving a hand to help it along but paused with the sudden weight he felt on his right wrist where his body still ached with whatever magic had rushed through him. He looked down quickly, shoving his sleeve up to find a golden cuff locked in place there. Confused, the dwarf looked up sharply to find Gandalf with a similar one upon his left wrist and then to the hobbit where he wore two matching bands of gold to their own around his wrists where the skin was once burning up. Turning to look once more at his own, Thorin rand a finger over it, admiring the craftsmanship, the smooth surface with no flaws to be seen, glimmering with warm light in the scare darkness of the room. He was enchanted for just a moment, inspecting to finds on the other side a line of runes he could not decipher, feeling a small spark dance up through his fingertip to the very core of his being when touching them.

“It is the mark of the contract,” Gandalf explained upon seeing Thorin’s curious inspection of his newly acquired accessory. “They will disappear when the demon is not in our services any longer, but for the time being it indicates him being under both our command, and so we both have one.”

He nodded his understand, eyes not leaving the gold band as he turned it over and over again to look at it until he heard the hobbit’s voice once more, this time however it was not coming from in front of him.

“So, now that that is all well and done with, may I ask why exactly I have been summoned by a dwarvish King and a wandering wizard?”

Quickly, Thorin shoved his sleeve back down, the cuff hidden under the layers of cloth as he caught sight of the hobbit now roaming around the room freely, inspecting every corner and sitting upon one of the beds for a second before coming back towards the two, stopping to kick away a few stalks of the herbs that surrounded his former pentagram. At this, Thorin gave a slightly startled look, stance prepared to fight, thinking that the demon was not permitted or able to cross the written spells at his feet, but a half glance towards Gandalf told him otherwise as the wizard waved away his anxieties letting Thorin relax. Testing this, Thorin too took a step outside his circle—if only a little bit—and, though the hobbit gave him a curious look, no immediate harm came to him.

Thorin took a breath to settle his nerves and stand tall, staring down their fourteen member of his company before, finally, speaking of the reason behind all this.

“We need your help killing a dragon.”


End file.
